


Kintsugi

by Graverobber141, InkInMyVeins (Graverobber141)



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, SasuSaku - Freeform, Slow Burn, Travels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2020-10-18 01:04:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20630528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graverobber141/pseuds/Graverobber141, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graverobber141/pseuds/InkInMyVeins
Summary: {Kintsugi -- an art form where what is broken is mended together with golden lacquer; the scars left in the piece displayed instead of hidden.}The last person Sakura expected to see huddled on that cot, sweat plastering hair against his marble-cut face, writhing from pain and fatigue, was Uchiha Sasuke. For a moment, she was completely stunned, standing on the threshold of the room at the back of the small hut, staring blankly at the pale figure like she had seen a ghost, and she practically had. The last words she heard from him had been uttered almost two years ago, standing outside Konoha's gates, gazing up at the faint smile of his, and listening to that promise: 'Maybe next time.'--Takes place during Sasuke's quest for redemption, and fills in what happens during his and Sakura's travels together. Some canon-divergence.





	1. A Chance Meeting

** _Rain Country_ ** .

He appeared like a fleeting shadow at the edge of vision: a dark silhouette against the black of the night, moonlight dancing across his pale skin as he gracefully flickered across the fray like a ghost.

Hazel eyes wide, Amaya thought that was what the flash of wavering cloak and sparking metal was: a phantom, or perhaps a god. The sound of steel meeting steel and screams of terror thundering in her ears like a consuming chant, the girl fell back into the wet earth slicked by the unyielding downpour of her home country, and watched with a mixture of awe and fear as the revenant sliced down foe after foe. The natives of the village behind her, all wielding makeshift weapons, could only stand immobilized in the same fashion, like motionless figures painted against a backdrop.

They had come a few hours ago, these ninja without headbands, demanding information that the villagers did not have, and when they were denied, had laid siege to the out-skirting settlement like the hounds of hell; though the people who called this place home had refused to go gently and quietly, it had been nothing short of a slaughter. Outmanned, out-armed, out-trained, they had engaged with war cries and determination that were quickly broken, transformed from lions into sheep with the first wave of men that had fallen uselessly, only managing to scratch the armor of their tormentors.

And then  ** _he_ ** came, an answer to a silent prayer, a god of death and destruction to rain down judgement upon those who had taken their loved ones from them. 

And he did it  _ effortlessly _ .

"Amaya-chan!" Her father's voice broke through the white noise, and she felt his presence skidding next to her, his hands gripping onto her shoulders tightly as he dropped his sword into the mud. "I told you to wait inside!"

But she had wanted to  _ fight _ . Fingers grasping into his roughspun tunic, she couldn't tear her eyes from the wraith. "What is he, otousan?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly in a taut voice. Gripping ahold of her tightly from behind, he began lifting her up when it came from their side: a fury of kunai. With a curse, he went to turn on his heel, shield her with his own body, when the nameless apparition appeared before them. Katana rising, the dark-haired man stopped what weaponry he could not deflect with his own body, and with his dual-colored, hardened stare--a mixture of blood red and ringed purple--boring into them both, he demanded in a low voice: "Move!"

Gripping more tightly into her father's shirt, Amaya looked over his shoulder as he started running back toward the rows of stone buildings, and watched as their savior rushed out to meet the last of their assailants. After the bodies fell, a roar of triumph rose from the populace, only to die out in muttered concern, as the cloaked man, the phantom who appeared in their time of need and moved like an indestructible force of nature, stumbled across the corpses, and collapsed into a runoff of rain.

"Otousan! Stop!" The young girl screeched, tearing herself from her father's arms as she ran across the battlefield to fling her fingers into the black cloak. "He's hurt! We've got to help him!"

"Amaya-chan!" One of the nearby villagers was quick to pry the sobbing girl from the stranger, looking desperately toward her father for direction. "Sadao-san?"

Kneeling down, the elder man called Sadao examined the kunai that lined the injured man’s back, his mouth forming a thin line at the sight of a dark liquid that stained the metal, yet wasn't blood. "Poison."

"What do we do?"

Looking up to watch his distraught daughter, Sadao grunted, as if the answer was obvious. "We take him in."

**************

In rare moments of clarity, Sasuke thought bitterly how after all he had been through, the mountains he had climbed and conquered, that it would end here, due to a poisoned kunai wielded by an insignificant lackey. And he was immune to poison, wasn't he? He supposed to every rule there was an exception, and his life had been nothing but  _ exceptional _ : an endless, chaotic fight for survival, understanding, and now redemption. 

And here his forgiveness laid: sprawled out on a cot in the backroom of a shack, his body feverish, expelling his fluids in a desperate attempt to rid itself of the venom that assaulted his veins. There was an elder man who tried to ask him questions, an elder woman who shoved the other away, and did her best to ward off the darkness that was slowly taking over Sasuke, like a debt wanting to be paid. And then there was the curious girl who stood on the threshold of the room, peeking from behind the door to catch a glimpse of the dying man in her home.

Those moments of comprehension were fleeting and far in between; mostly he dreamed in a febrile haze, his mind lost in its melding of reality and fiction. But wasn't that one of the last things his niisan had told him? Reality was  _ subjective _ .

Naturally, he dreamed of his brother. An empty compound. Completely, consumingly silent. Sometimes he would sit beside Itachi, the blood-red moon shining in through the opened door, cascading an overarching shadow along his smaller form. Sometimes he would be chasing crows with red eyes, delving deeper and deeper into a dead forest, catching brief glances of that shadow eating away at his own. He was always young in those mirages, and so very, very desperate,  _ disgustingly so _ .

Sometimes he dreamed of ** that night** : a torturing image that replayed before his eyes with a flash of crimson and spinning tomoes, over and over again, like a repeating circle of hell, his punishment for his sins, and it was those nights when he was the most vocal and violent, when his chakra would flair, and if it hadn't been for his lack of strength, he probably would have killed those around him.

And then, his head rising from the drowning depths of the ocean, breaking the surface of the murky waters that wanted to claim him, he would dream of  _ her _ . Pink hair and an emerald gaze that held so much kindness he was entirely undeserving of, a selflessness he could not understand. Seated under the blossoming trees she was named was after, he watched her from afar, and felt pain deep within his chest, because he  _ knew _ he couldn't join her. His path stretched behind him, underneath darkened clouds that rumbled with thunder, lightning flashing across the sky.

Her name slipped past his lips a few times, barely audible.

"There's nothing more I can do, Sadao," he heard the elderly woman mutter one night, during a time she thought he was asleep. "He's on borrowed time."

"I've sent for the healer," the one called Sadao answered quietly. "Can you keep him stable until she arrives?"

"I'll try," the woman replied, though she sounded less than pleased. "...But this stranger--his left eye, that's not natural, and I've seen flashes of red in his other, like the sharingan. It's a risk to keep him in the village, especially when he is probably going to expire soon anyways."

"He saved our village," the man grumbled in a tone that allowed for no argument. "That is a debt we must repay."

**************

"Keep him steady," Sakura ordered in such a firm tone that the assisting physician glanced up to peer speechlessly at the pink-haired medic hunched over the patient; the man would be dead in a few minutes anyways, no matter what they did, having lost too much blood, yet she seemed determined to waste every bit of her energy and their resources on a lost cause.

"Sakura-san," the physician uttered in protest, even as he moved to do as she direction, "we should move on to the next one. There's no hope--"

"I said keep him steady," she asserted, and immediately, he shut his mouth.

Face scrunching in fine-tuned focus, Sakura kept one hand on the dying man's chest, continually pouring charged chakra to his heart to keep it beating, distributing the combined live forces of blood and spiritual energy through their respective networks, while the other waved down a few spare, passing medics. "We're going to need to do a transfusion; prepare the operating room."

Though his disgruntlement was written all over his expression in a way that made him look twice as old, her assistant knew better by now than to argue when she had made it to this point: doing so would only be a waste of time and breath. 

It was in these rare moments, when she needed absolute concentration, that Sakura dared to close her eyes while working on a patient, yet now, with the world blocked out from her vision, she could  _ feel _ it: her chakra dancing around his, twining together like strings, and holding onto those connections, she sent pulses throughout his network, and finding torn bridges, lent him her strength to repair them. Arteries and veins mended with precision, chakra channels were unobstructed and once again began to faintly flow like a slow-moving stream, and at the end, she accelerated his blood cell regeneration, giving him just enough to have a chance of making it through the operation.

Emerald eyes fluttering open, a wave of dizziness and exhaustion washed over her, but she bit down the discomfort. Glancing toward her assistant, she gave a single order: "Get him to the OR."

Without a word, he nodded, amazement flickering within his eyes at having witnessed something next to impossible, but the young kunoichi from the Leaf was nothing less than a prodigy in this field, and quickly rolled the gurney into the sanitized, makeshift room. The building where they were housing the injured was little more than a shoddy inn, but the outskirts of Rain, which had seen endless conflict from the continuous great wars and bands of rogues in their aftermaths, had little to offer that hadn't been razed to the ground at least once.

The world had been promised peace after the last earth-shattering war, but it was hardly that simple: pockets of deserters had popped up more frequently, looking to take advantage of the great nations' weakened state, and as the dust settled, old wounds became less forgettable, mistrust more logical. Sakura knew Kakashi-sensei, who now bore the title of Hokage and all the burdens that came with it, was doing his best to keep order, yet it required a lot more than just a few well-chosen words. 

Rain had seen the worst of the aftermath: practically stripped of its ruling government and defenses, it became an easy target for vultures and opportunists. Konoha, along with Suna, had sent in representatives and forces to help stabilize the region, rebuild, and offer relief.

Sakura, the disciple of the legendary Tsunade, had spent the better part of the last year traveling across the country, helping to establish hospitals and nursing the injured who suffered from attacks on outlying villages. While her name was growing, especially in the medical community, where some even whispered she had already surpassed her teacher, she sometimes hardly felt like she was making a dent, but was too determined to ever even entertain the idea of giving up; she would help those she could, fight those who would do harm, and give nothing less of her all. Just like both Kakashi-sensei and Tsunade-shisou had taught her.

Regathering her strength and center with a few deep, steadying breaths, the pink-haired medic changed out her gloves quickly, before scanning the rows of patients to determine which one needed her aid the most.

The afternoon had faded into evening, then the evening had slipped into early morning, the sun beginning to peek once more over the horizon, before the exhaustion from overexertion began seeping into Sakura, and her assistant, who had been practically begging her to get some rest, finally made progress with his pleas. She slept in an improvised quarters across the street from their inn-hosting-injured, within what little remained of what had once been a shop, listening to the rain pouring against the roof as a substitute for counting sheep.

She was awoken only a handful of hours later by her wary assistant, spotting a ragged boy in his teenage years lingering by the opened door. 

"Sakura-san," her assistant muttered in that tone suggesting he wished he could keep what he was about to say to himself, "We've received a message from a neighboring village that's been attacked; someone of importance has been severely injured, and they requested you."

He wanted to say he would send others in her stead.

"I'll go," Sakura asserted, rising to the edge of the bed to begin tugging on her shoes.

At least he knew better by now than to argue.

**************

The last person Sakura expected to see huddled on that cot, sweat plastering hair against his marble-cut face, writhing from pain and fatigue, was Uchiha Sasuke. For a moment, she was completely stunned, standing on the threshold of the room at the back of the small hut, staring blankly at the pale figure like she had seen a ghost, and she practically had. The last words she heard from him had been uttered almost two years ago, standing outside Konoha's gates, gazing up at the faint smile of his, and listening to that promise: ' _ Maybe next time _ .'

Only that  _ next time _ never came. He had simply vanished, the only evidence of his existence being the rumors that would occasionally surface of a cloaked man fitting his description coming to the aid of some far flung village, and the intel Kakashi-sensei would occasionally receive from a hawk. She never asked about it, and she was sure the Rokudaime was entirely grateful about that fact, but the extended silence was--for lack of better wording,  _ maddening _ . She expected nothing from him, never had, yet that gesture he had left her with--his fingers tapping against her seal in a manner that spoke of intimacy--had felt like a promise. 

It wasn't that she waited for him. She had been busy herself in his absence, traveling across the world to establish herself in the medical community, offering aid to the victims of the last Great War, working to the point Ino often, in her teasing way that hid worry, said Sakura was trying to drown herself in her duties. Yet while her friends moved on romantically--Naruto (to the surprise of everyone) was the first of their group to marry, and Ino was trying to date Sai on the down low, but nothing about that couple could be described as subtle--she shooed off her own suitors, choosing to instead focus on her career.

It was just a coincidence she stayed single all this time, even if Uchiha Sasuke was hardly the sort of man anyone could  _ just get out of their head. _

Had his condition not been so serious, Sakura would have found the circumstances of this reunion a relief. There was no time to stumble over herself, second guess, or skewer in awkwardness and questions she wanted to ask but would leave unsaid; there was no room for her id, only the doctor inside her that was compelled to act and save his life. And she had to be quick, too much time was already lost.

"I'll need a few people to hold him down and a bucket," she ordered as she tied her hair into a ponytail, and Sadao, who seemed to be the closest thing to a leader this village had, stared at her for only a moment, before relaying her command with a harsh bark.

As the small household filled with rustling and the hurried scuffling of feet against hardwood, Sakura pulled back Sasuke's blankets, feeling his fever-heated chest, and frowned; his skin looked sickly, not just  _ pale _ , but the kind of white that preceded death like a shadow, and his veins were visible, the blood running through them dark. Placing her palm against his heart, which beat so slowly, she began channeling her chakra into his system, lending him her strength in the absence of his own as they waited.

In her concentration, she didn't notice his eyes flutter open, but she heard the weak rasp to escape his lips. "Sakura?" It was a question.

Glancing at his face, holding that obsidian gaze with her own, she felt a wave of worry slip through her armor like a well-thrown kunai, yet it lasted for only a heartbeat, and she steeled herself once more, her eyes drifting back to focus on what she was doing. "Hush, now. I need to concentrate, and you need to preserve your strength."

Stubborn as ever, he wasn't having any of that. His hand shot out, gripping around her wrist tight enough to dig his nails into her skin, and in an urgent voice, commanded, "Sakura. Look at me."

So she did again. Red had pooled within the black of his visible eye, and the three tomoes of his sharingan were spinning. She was locked within his stare, felt the world shift as he pulled at her mind. She could had fought the genjutsu--Kami knows she should have, because there wasn't time to be playing these games with him--but something in his voice scared her, and so she let it happen.

It took only a second (less than a second, she theorized, knowing time flowed differently within worlds of illusions) for Sakura to realize Sasuke wasn't  _ pulling at her _ mind, but instead  _ pulling her into his _ . It was also obvious he had never done this before, as the process was far from perfect. He was searching for something to show her, and on the way, stumbled across memories that danced before her like speed-up film.

She saw the night he left the village in a flash, and felt her heart in her mouth. When it jolted to a series of their confrontations--the chipper of chidori ringing hollow in her ears--she swallowed it whole, and tasted guilt on her tongue she knew was not her own. She felt her mind coming to a screeching halt, before digging backwards, and there was a flicker of Orochimaru cloaked in shadows with the flames of a torch licking his face before he dug into that particular memory, jumping through it.

And then rain was pounding on her shoulders--correction,  _ his _ shoulders, his cloak drenched from the incessant downpour and adding an extra weight to his back. His eyes were her eyes, his thoughts her thoughts, and had the scene unfolding not been so intense, she might have wondered at this intimacy.

_ He had been on this trail since a few months into his journey of redemption, yet every lead he followed had been iced over, left cold, until now. Left steps behind, he was finally ahead, and knew the area where those he was tracking would show up next, because they had gotten careless. Before, everything could have still been called a coincidence, even if his gut told him otherwise, because they had been meticulous to cover up their involvement, patient enough to plan and play games. But now they were desperately  _ ** _searching_ ** _ for something. _

_ Calling on his network of informants, Sasuke had followed them to Rain, and finally narrowed in a figure--whose body was covered with a grey, hooded cloak and his face a mask in the shape of a hawk--who he supposed was someone extremely important, if not the leader of the group raiding villages. A group Sasuke suspected was tied to Orochimaru, who had established himself as the Kage of the growing Sound, because those with special bloodline abilities were always targeted, though he had no proof. _

** _At least, not yet_ ** _ . _

_ The chase lasted for hours. Hawk was trying to lose Sasuke through the thick forest, down flooding rivers, and he was so quick, had anyone else been on his tail, he would have been successful, but Sasuke stayed on course.  _

_ Until Hawk came to a halting stop, so unforeseen, it was jarring, yet Sasuke did not hesitate, even as the man tilted his head, as if listening to something. Drawing his katana with a slink of metal against scabbard, Sasuke channeled lightning through the blade, darted forward, and sought to strike. _

_ Through the slits of the mask as he closed in, Sasuke saw blackness,  _ ** _and only blackness_ ** _ , where his eyes should have been, as if someone had ripped them out and replaced them with coals; his blade digging into his torso, Sasuke felt an absence of weight, and had to shift his footing or risk losing his balance, as he cut nothing, slicing through a darkened, smoke-like substance with no smell.  _

_ Dancing backwards, his sharingan spinning in his visible eye, he quickly found Hawk, saw him appear a few paces away in another cloud of that strange matter, and this time stood his ground cautiously. _

_ "Uchiha Sasuke," his voice was low, possessing a tone of disinterest. "You are drowning in your own irrelevance, yet you still manage to be a thorn. I have a proposition for you." _

_ Silently, Sasuke snapped his blade into his grip, once more channeled chidori through it, and was moving to attack again. This time, Hawk easily dodged backwards, able to meet Sasuke's speed, and creating distance between them again, tsked with his tongue in the way an adult might scold a child. _

_ "There is a village under siege," Hawk continued, as if he had not been interrupted, "a few clicks west of here. If you hurry along, you might be able to prevent its destruction." And then he simply waited, and Sasuke did not need him to spell out the rest of this 'offer'. _

_ Save the village and lose his lead, or fight this man and let countless innocents die. Setting his jaw, he felt anger boil underneath his skin as his gaze was brazenly held, yet his sharingan saw nothing but the intricacy of small body movements. He wondered if Hawk was bluffing, but out of his peripheral, due west, he saw flames dancing, and knew it wasn't as simple as that.  _

_ "Your decision?" Hawk sounded  _ ** _bored._ **

_ It was a mistake. He knew it was a mistake as he slid his katana back into its sheath, but he thought of Sakura and Naruto, and knew what he had to do. Turning his back, he heard the man chuckle in a way that made his anger grow-- _ ** _"Interesting,"_ ** _ Hawk had mused--before departing the clearing, biting down his own rising rage, because it felt very much so like he had been played. _

The world became blurry, as if trying to reconnect to reality. The illusion coming out of focus, Sasuke tried to hold on, show her more, but the genjutsu was dissolving, and incoherent images began to flicker in Sakura's mind-eye like overlapping photographs; he was losing his grasp.

The battle he faced in the village was nothing more than a blur of red vision and dart across the field. There was a glint of metal, then pain, then the feverish visions, but in the last moment a girl at his bedside while he died, and her lips were moving, but Sakura couldn't make out her words, nor could she draw on Sasuke's memories for them.

Like thrown out of water, a chill lingering against her spine, Sakura was brought back to the real world, seeing it through her own eyes. He laid before her panting, sweat beading down his forehead, and his grip loosening on her wrist, his mouth twitched, as if he were trying to force it to open, yet nothing came out. His eyes fluttered shut. His body collapsed back onto the cot, almost completely devoid of what little chakra he had left.

He wanted her to pick up the trail, Sakura knew. Wanted her to leave him to do it, but she could never entertain the idea, not even when he called himself her enemy. _Only_ _once_ had she ever been that weak.

The few moments the genjutsu lasted had been enough for the men she needed to arrive, and she was glad. With each passing minute, she swore Sasuke was becoming paler, and she thought she could never forgive him if he left her forever with that promise.

************

The extraction of the poison was long, arduous, and had she been a genin, Sakura would have either vomited or fainted, perhaps both. It was like sludge in his veins, resisted being pulled from his body like it had a will of his own. And he screamed, jerking with a random flair of chakra here and there, sometimes enough to send one of her make-do assistants flying onto the ground. Had Sasuke been even at a fraction of his strength, Sakura was sure he could have killed without realizing it.

Even after it was finished, Sakura did not rest. With part of the poison stored for later examination, she stayed at his bedside, helping him fight off the remaining fever, and willing his body to make it through what it had just endured. 

Part way through the first night, she heard the door creak open, and feeling chakra build up in her fist, Sakura's eyes darted to watch two big eyes peer out from behind the door, and with an exhalation of air, relaxed. "Amaya-chan, was it?"

Stepping fully into the room, the girl shyly approached, nodding once as she stopped a few paces away from Sasuke's bed. She watched the blanket rise and fall as he breathed, and in a tiny voice asked, "You're going to save him, right?"

Sakura smiled tiredly. "I am."  _ Going to try, at least _ .

"Good," Amaya responded, already backing up toward the door. "Because he saved us." She stopped, as if hesitating, yet after throwing a look over her shoulder at first Sakura, then Sasuke, hurried on out the door.

**************

By the third morning Sasuke was stable. Without the fear his condition would worsen, Sakura penned a letter to Kakashi, requesting any relevant information he may have regarding the memories she had seen, and sent out one of Konoha's many messenger falcons. Then with the elder woman, Aiko, once more keeping an eye on Sasuke, Sakura departed to follow the trail he had left off. 

Unsurprisingly, she found nothing. The rain had long washed away any tracks left in the clearing, and even searching the surrounding area, she saw no signs anything had been disturbed. What she found odder, however, was the complete lack of any chakra residue, even when she purposely searched for it; she could sense Sasuke's--that dangerous tinge of lightning that felt like air thick with rain after a storm--but there was not a second, as if no one else had been here.

So she began to back track, following what she remembered from the shared vision and the subtle remnant of sparking chakra that would have been impossible for someone who didn't know what to look for, but Sakura knew his aura like it was innate, even when he was trying to suppress it.

Sasuke, moving at top speed, had taken hours to reach the clearing, staying on the masked man's heels. Sakura was moving slower, more methodically and meticulously in her search for answers; she had started the journey early in the morning, at the break of dawn, and it wasn't until the sun was dipping into the horizon, darkening sky painted with shades of orange and yellow, that she came to the end of her search.

She first found the place Sasuke had intercepted Hawk; a fireball had left trees scorched, branches cracked and dangling like broken arms from the trunks. There had been a struggle, but now there  _ was _ a chakra signature, one like restless waves, and oddly familiar yet she couldn't quite place her finger on it. She followed that unknown beacon of energy, and by the time she arrived at the  _ second _ field where a clash had taken place, the sun had set completely and the world was engulfed in black and a light drizzle.

This time the trees were scarred by a swing of a heavy blade, massive and unyielding, leaving marks that were also eerily familiar to Sakura, and she was beginning to put the pieces together. The realization fully formed when she saw a metal shard lodged in a stone, almost insignificant in how small it was, but with minimal effort, she freed it, fingers running over the curved, chipped part of a blade, and knew at once.

She had been afraid of the blade once. Staring down its massive length, she had looked at death for the first time in her life, fully understanding that this life she was beginning to live was no game. One never forgot a weapon like that, nor its owner, and while Zabuza was long gone, his sword still remained.

**************

_ The girl had come to his bed in the dead of the night, watching him with worry and concern, though even in his feverish haze, Sasuke had known there was a lot more bothering her than the man dying within her home. _

_ 'You could help him,' she had said, and Sasuke tried to wrap his head around the words, tried to grasp their meaning, but they fled like water slipping through his fingers.  _

_ So, with what little command of his body he had, he had simply asked, 'Who?' _

_ 'Akira,' she had said, and he felt himself fading again, eyes growing heavy, but not before he heard more, 'We couldn't help him for long, but you're stronger than we are.' _

His consciousness began to drift back in, and he floated in the waters of his mind, aware that he  _ should be _ doing something. Grasping ahold of that thread, he pulled and grasped, knowing he had to wake up, and burst through the surface forcibly. Eye shining red in the darkness of the room, he stared up at the ceiling, taking a moment to become aware of his surroundings, before trying to stand.

Uselessly, he crumpled onto the flooring with a snarl. Though by some stroke of a miracle (Sakura, he remembered Sakura), he was alive, his body was still severely fatigued, and that simple effort sent a throbbing pain throughout his muscles.

_ But he had to move _ .

He gripped the edge of the cot, using it to support his weight as he dragged himself to his feet.

"Mama said you should rest."

He hadn't noticed her standing by the door. Snapping his dual-colored gaze onto her, he asked the question that thrummed in his mind, because it was a strand of something bigger: "Who is Akira?"

"He needs help," the girl replied uselessly, grasping the frame of the door as if she intended to flee behind it at any moment.

_ He could see it in the tensing of her muscles, the slight tremble: the fear. She was terrified of his eyes, and why shouldn't she be? These eyes were paid for in blood _ .

"What do you know?" Sasuke demanded, the tomoes of his sharingan spinning in the darkness, flames of the nearby fire flickering off his pale face. He had little care for tact or wording; his patience was wearing thin, and with the time he had already lost in that cot, the precious sliver of a trail he had gained was growing colder by the second.

"I was wondering the same about you, Uchiha." Sasuke saw the movement behind the girl before he heard the voice; it was as if the air became sharper behind her and silently -- surprisingly silently -- her father appeared like a looming statue, his shadow cast long across the floorboards. "More precisely, I'm wondering what you're reporting and to who?"

Sadao stepped in front of his daughter, urging her back into the hallway, as he reached for something behind his back --

\-- Sasuke's flaring red eye began spinning more rapidly, readying a genjutsu, because he knew he couldn't charge, but summoning that chakra sent pain reverberating through his veins, and --

It was only a scroll that was flung before him, clattering as it fell. With it sprawled open, Sasuke could make out the scratch-like marks of his former sensei's handwriting, and one sentence: ' _ Speak to the swordsman. _ '

Sasuke's back straightened, and his all-seeing, vigilant stare snapped back up to Sadao, only shifting to take in the katana hanging from his hip, and the hand that travelled to grasp it's handle.

There was little time to mull over that letter, who sent it, or what it implicated; there was a man on the verge of striking standing before him, and just having his sharingan going was draining what little chakra Sasuke had left. He had to choose his words carefully, bide time for --

"You're from the Leaf," Sasuke stated, a deduction formed from his familiarity with his clan, and the stance he currently stood in, a particular readied posture which would allow him to draw his blade swiftly. "And obviously a deserter who doesn't want his cover blown."

"So are you," Sadao countered, regarding Sasuke with weariness. "Yet your past is a lot more bloodied and shadowed than mine, so let's not play that game and dance around with words. Where do your loyalties lie, Uchiha?"

His grip tightened on his sword.

Sasuke smirked.

A moment later, a kunai was at Sadao's throat, and to his credit, the man did not even sweat. 

"Take your hand off your weapon," Sakura said firmly, watching as Sadao did as ordered, and immediately tossed the blade across the room. "I believe the three of us need to have a talk."


	2. Deserter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, duckbutt.

For once, the sun beat through the soft clouds of Rain, and spread golden light through the tree tops; such a break was exceedingly rare, and running through the forest with a wooden katana, Amaya grinned, thankful she had been able to sneak under her parents' radar and escape into this bright day.

After all, there were bad ninja in these woods with fantastical creatures at their command. She alone could fight them, defend her home from this unknown threat. Dancing with that weapon of hers, she did battle under leaves slick with dew, occasionally slipping on the grass and falling face first into the soft earth. Each time she got back up, unhindered by her trip, and laughing, began twirling once more.

She only paused when she heard a branch snap. Heart-pounding, she swiveled on her heel, searching for the source of the noise. 

The trees were silent, nothing more came, and Amaya made up her mind to head home before her father started to worry. 

Then the air a few paces in front of her shifted, as if tearing open, and a boy came flying from _ nowhere _, hitting a tree harshly with a groan.

Even though she was frightened, Amaya held her wooden katana out in front of her -- she had seen her father scare away ruffians with less -- and demanded, "Who are you?! You better watch yourself!"

Striking blue eyes peered at her from behind a messy mane of white-hair, as the boy looked up and muttered, "Down!"

Something deep inside her that had registered the change in the wind blowing through her hair, commanded her to obey. Moving on its own, her body hit the ground hard, and she hard an object thunk into a nearby tree; when she spared a glance, she saw the sun glinting off metal.

By then the boy had somehow arrived at her side, grabbed her hand, helped her up, and was leading her, running across fallen leaves that crunched underneath footsteps behind them.

Her father had always warned her to careful outside the village, that not only were their predators, but humans worse than any beast. Headband or not, he had always warned her to stay away from strangers. She should have listened, but she wanted to be brave like he was, trained to be able to defend her home like he did.

Those footsteps were closing the distance behind them. 

Her hand was freed, his fingers letting go of her own, and skidding to a stop, turning on her heel, she saw the boy was standing between her and a woman dressed in a dark cloak and mask, charging straight toward them.

The boy didn’t turn his head, just yelled at her: "Keep going!"

No, she wouldn't run, she wouldn't abandon him. She would stand and fight. Picking up a rock, she pulled back her arm, and with all her strength, slung it toward the masked pursuer. 

The rock pounced off the woman's mask; a shadow stretching before her like an omen, she jerked to a stop a breath away from the children, blood pouring from a large gash in her chest, and hit the ground before them hard.

Amaya recognized that shadow's shape as her father's, and the next moment, he was there, before them, standing like a guardian between them and the masked stranger who had been biting at their heels, katana drawn in one, fluid motion in his hand.

"Amaya." Red dripped from the curve of Sadao's blade, and the young girl felt bile rising in her throat. "Look away."

***  
**   


The kitchen was small and cramped; the square table in center of the room, warmed by the nearby, crackling fireplace, felt crowded with the three shinobi seated around it, and more so with the tension that hung thick in the air. Sprawled across the wooden top, like an omen, was the piece of parchment that had begun this boiling mistrust. At the ends were Sadao and Sasuke, and separating the two in the middle was Sakura, her body angled toward the elder man in a way that shielded her former teammate.

"We took in the boy," Sadao said quietly, rubbing his hand along his unshaven jaw; tiredness had set within his brown-eyes, a type of world-wariness Sasuke knew all-too well. "Akira, I believe he said his name was. Feed him. Cared for him. But he didn't want to stay; said men were after him, and we'd be caught in the middle of it." With a scoff, he splayed his palms across the table, as if to say 'look what happened anyways.'

A silence followed, and Sasuke leaned forward, intent on pressing the issue relentlessly, but Sakura's hand none-too-gently bumped into his knee, and he felt his tongue stalling.

"I know it's not easy, Sadao-san," the pink-haired medic softly replied. "But we need to know what happened to this boy; he may be linked to these attacks."

Sadao looked up between the two, a narrowed-eye glance of lingering distrust, but with a frustrated sigh, gave in with a mutter: "I suppose it doesn't matter what I tell you. My secrets seem to be have been discovered long ago." His fingers tapped on Kakashi's scrawled words.

"You're a deserter," Sasuke stated, feeling Sakura's hard look on him at his blunt proclamation. "Your sword-drawing stance -- The Crescent Moon Dance -- is a style only taught in Konoha."

Sadao didn't seem unnerved. He regarded Sasuke cooly, and with a harsh exhalation of air, let out a grunt. "My history isn't important. I left Konoha's shinobi when I was young and still stupid, to join up with an idealistic band of deserters known as the Ronin."

Sasuke's chin tilted at the name, and he tried placing such an organization; he had heard rumors in his travels, yet the so-called Ronin weren't prominent -- or posed enough of a threat -- to warrant more than a page in the bingo book. From what he knew, they didn't attack civilians, instead protecting small villages when the Great Nations couldn't, and Konoha viewed them more as a convenient security force.

"I ended up leaving them too," Sadao continued, "but my departure was more amicable." His eyes shifted to observe the door behind which his family rested, and running his fingers through his hair, he looked back toward the shinobi at his table. "I still have contacts within the organization, old acquaintances who owed me a few favors, so I cashed them in: convinced one of their soldiers to come escort the boy to one of their hideouts, so they could take him in."

"That was kind of you, Sadao-san," Sakura remarked. "Most people --"

"I need a location, where he was heading," Sasuke interrupted, once more ignoring Sakura's chastising glare, but this was time-sensitive; they didn't have the luxury of dancing around what they needed.

"And if I give it to you," Sadao's gaze flickered over the Konoha headband woven through Sakura's hair, before settling on the Uchiha at her side, "do I have your word that Konoha will leave my village and me alone?"

"Of course," Sakura reassured him with a small smile. "We're here to help, not hunt deserters."

Sadao kept looking at Sasuke, and it was only when the Uchiha gave a firm nod, that he ripped off a piece of the parchment from Kakashi's missive, reached behind him to retrieve a pen, and scribbled a quick map. "The escort will take the kid here to meet up with a few others; you have a few days to reach them, I'd imagine, before tracking them will be difficult even for you."

His sharingan blazed red in the dim lighting, darting over the drawn map, then it was gone, and Sasuke was on his feet, intent on leaving at once --

Dizziness overcame him, his hand darting out to grasp the back of the chair for support, but even then, if it wasn’t for Sakura jumping up to hold him steady, he suspected he would have tumbled into the floor.

He hissed, jaw clenching. 

"Can you stop for just a minute?" There was something in Sakura's voice he did not recognize, something tight and restrained.

Taking her in with an even stare, he muttered , "We don't have time for -- "

"Just _ stop _, Sasuke." Her eyes were hard. 

A twisted desire to chuckle bubbled underneath his surface, because the simple fact was he didn't know how. To just stop. But Sakura was no longer the girl feinting during Kakashi's bell test -- her grip against his arms were firm, threatening to be more, and he knew she could easily just toss him over her shoulder. In this wretched stated, he wouldn't be able to do anything to resist. His tongue felt dry, and looking away from her, he nodded to signal his surrender. His hold on the chair tightened, knuckles turning white. The room fell silent, and he could feel their reluctant host's eyes boring into them.

"Sadao-san," Sakura stated quietly, her civil tone hiding the strain and tiredness underneath, "I don't mean to impose, but I'll be requiring use of your spare room for a little while longer."

A chair scrapped against floorboards, the wood creaking underneath added weight. Though Sasuke knew the man didn't want them here -- whether if it be for his distaste of shinobi in general or just Sasuke himself -- Sadao just replied, "Of course."

Once left alone, Sasuke felt Sakura's hold on him shift; she guided his arm around her neck and wrapped hers around his waist, helping him stand. She could easily toss him over her shoulder, but the gesture was meant for his own dignity. His mind wandered to consider how many times they had found themselves in this exact position; as genin, it had happened a lot more than he would like to admit. 

Soundlessly, she led him back to his makeshift bedroom, and helped him settle on the cot. The scene and silence were familiar, jogging a distant memory that drifted at the back of his mind. His eyes drifted to the fire, watching the flames dance in intertwining orange and red, and his jaw firmly remain shut. She was also unusually quiet, seated against the wall on the opposite side of the room, unusually guarded eyes staring up at the ceiling. 

They remained like that until for an unmeasurable amount of time until, with a sigh, she quietly stated, "When you can stand on you're own, we'll depart to investigate."

_ We _. He wanted to tell her to go on without him, but even he knew it would be a waste of breath. 

"Get some rest."

Gaze trailing across the room to take her in, he nodded, and settled underneath the blankets, listening to her set up a bedroll by the fire; with the room being so confined, she was nearby, and he could hear her breathing as he closed his eyes.

*****

** _Konoha, After the War._ **

He didn't resist when, in the middle of the night, ANBU came into his hospital room, holding the bindings that would become part of him for days.

Sakura had: hurt and anger lined her voice when she declared, "He's still healing. He needs to be here, so we can monitor his condition!"

"Hokage's orders," one of the masked men had gruffly stated, and she had no choice but to stand and watch as they led him away, while he could barely walk.

He remembers his palms scraping against rough stone as he was forced against a wall, padded down, stripped, and then the harsh, ice water sprayed down upon his body to clean him. He remembers being bound in the straight jacket, chained like a dog, and the blindfold tied across his eyes, the seals that prevented him from summoning chakra making bile rise in his throat.

He remembers the darkness. The quiet. Sensory deprivation. And how, with the absence of input, his mind resorted to summoning up images of his past, and he thought that this was the most fitting retribution for his sins.

The massacre. His betrayal. His unwinding and downfall.

Niisan.

He _ hurt _. For the first time in his life, his pain seeped through his carefully constructed walls, past the layered bricks, dripping down his consciousness like poison. 

And he _ had hurt _, and the knowledge of the pain he had caused to the ones he loved tasted like blood on his tongue. 

He knew he would never have the chance to make it right, never have the chance to be anything other than the man fate demanded he be.

Because they were going to execute him.

*****

Kakashi never wanted to be Hokage. In fact, he tried to convince Tsunade to stay in office until Naruto was ready to take over, but the Sannin had merely scoffed at him, declaring that she led the village through the aftermath of a war and a war itself: it was time someone else picked up the slack. He understood politics, but hated them; it was easier to live by his own philosophy on the ground, when only a few lives rested in his hands, instead of the fate of a whole village. 

But he owed this to Obito. Yet he was never one to pick up broken pieces, and now...

The door flew open angrily, slamming into the wall with enough force to spook the ANBU guard and leave a crack where the knob hit. Eyes falling lazily onto his furious, former student, the young kunoichi looking much like her mentor in that moment, Kakashi let go a breath of air. "Boar, give us a minute."

"Yes, Hokage-sama," Though he sounded less then pleased, the masked guard flickered out of sight.

Leaning against his desk, Kakashi shoved his hands into his pockets, and waited for the storm about to come.

"You need to release Sasuke immediately," Sakura demanded, wasting no time with greetings. In one furious, quick stride she was in the center of the circular room, staring down her sensei. "His injuries are still severe. He needs to be in a hospital, not a cell!"

"I know."

The simple answer stalled Sakura, and she stare at him, waiting for more explanation.

Kakashi, walking to take a look out the window, over the skyline of Konoha, took a moment to himself, gaze drawn toward the spot he had first talked to his subordinates, before speaking again, "This was a compromise to please the Elders, and to buy me time to mount Sasuke's defense."

She didn't reply, but Kakashi knew she was smart enough to draw the conclusion: *he was facing execution*.

"I can allow you to see him," the Hokage continued, keeping his eyes on those particular set of stairs. "To provide medical treatment."

Another beat of silence. Then her voice was uncharacteristically quiet, "Yes...Thank you, sensei."

_ Don't thank me yet _, he thought bitterly.

*****

Within the underground, stone and steel prison guarded by Leaf's Torture and Interrogation unit, where the cells were small and windowless, there was no way to tell the passage of time. There was just a void, and Sasuke, in his bland, beige uniform, seals placed upon his arm to restrain the flow of chakra, simply sat upon the cool flooring, back against the wall, staring into the black created by the blindfold shielding his eyes, broken only when the lights were brightened unbearably when his meals were delivered, the sharp, bright shards slipping through the fabric of the seal-ridden cloth. His internal clock shattered (on purpose, no doubt), he had no idea how long he had been here.

Nor did he really care.

In fact, it seemed to him as if the world had become white static long before his imprisonment, the droning, sickening tone only drowned out by his his drive, his purpose -- _ the one he no longer possessed _ . Where that fire had been, the burning coals he had grasped even as they scorched his palms to only have _ something _, the ashes were now barren and cold. He felt a deliberate absence of emotion, a numbness that was as empty as the lightless cell stretched before him.

When one possessed nothing but time and emptiness, it was hard not to _ think _ . Haunted by his demons, his mind could do nothing but turn over the sins he committed and those committed against him, and consider the price of forgiveness -- if people had second chances, and if they did, if they actually had the capacity to change. If he could ever reconcile this void inside him, that part missing ever since _ that night. _If he could ever stare up at the Hokage monument and not think of his niisan. If he deserved anything more than this hell of reflection -- chidori chirping in his ears, pink hair fluttering in blurred vision.

If what was broken inside him could ever be fixed, but such a thought was a child's fantasy; the world was harsh, and only took, never gave.

The sound of heavy footsteps, made for the explicit purpose of being heard, drew his attention from the empty space where his thoughts were gathering. He heard them walk down the line of cells, before stopping at his own; a jangling of keys followed, and then came the low, domineering voice of Morino Ibiki, "You have a visitor, Uchiha."

The lights flashed on above him, mercifully dimmed. Jaw clenching, Sasuke leveled his chin, with a mixture of disinterest and wariness, where he judged the well-known interrogator to be standing.

"Stand up. Back against the wall."

It took a moment and his movements were slow, but Sasuke obeyed the command. He was a 'surprisingly well-behaved prisoner, for such an imprudent deserter', as Ibiki had once scoffed. Yet, even with the jaggedness of the road he had walked, taking him away from the village, he had never _ intended _ to it harm, but the path to hell was paved with good intentions

"Send her in."

There was a second step of footsteps, these lighter, and as he heard her voice, he felt his heart become still, his breathing stalling for a brief moment: "Thank you, Ibiki-san, but the guards won't be necessary."

"They stay, and his cell will remain locked while you're within it."

No more words, but he heard her step forward, heard the clang of iron against iron, the jangling of keys once more, retreating, heavy steps, and then silence. But he felt her presence, in the manner one was aware of a ghost; the space between them was a living thing, thick and tangible.

"Sasuke-kun..." His name felt foreign, yet familiar, and that suffix she added made him sick. "I need to check on your injuries. Would you mind sitting on the bed for me?"

He didn't answer. Didn't move. He was becoming aware of his own heartbeat picking up pace in his chest, something close to *panic* spreading throughout his tensed -- when had his shoulders become so tight? -- muscles. 

For the first time in a long time, *death* now felt like a consequence, because --

He didn't sense her move, and when her palm gently enclosed his arm, he felt his tendons straining at the suddenness, his body coiling like a spring.

"It's okay, Sasuke-kun." _ There was that suffix again _. Her voice was soft and soothing, unbelievably kind and warm, a blanket that washed over him to offer protection, but he only felt colder, sicker. "It's okay...Come on, now."

Her other palm pressed into his back, and without thinking, like some natural reaction to her touch, he followed her as she led him across the cell, the chains binding his ankles scrapping against the concrete floor. His knees bumped into the edge of the bed, and then, her hands on his shoulders, gently pressing him down, he was situated on top of the paper-like sheets.

"I'm going to undo the straight jacket so I can examine you."

The comforting wave of her tone was contrasted by the firm, hardened grunt of one of the guards, "That's not advisable --"

"Let me do my job," Sakura shot back, and the guard refrained from more argument.

The interruption served as a stark reminder that they weren't alone. 

The bed shifted under additional weight. He didn't turn to face her -- with his blindfold, it was pointless after all -- nor did he break his silence, because that was equally pointless; what could he say that could make up for a lifetime of hurt?

He didn't deserve -- 

He became keenly aware of his expansion of his own lungs as she undid the jacket, which provided the only sound between the clanking of metal buckles and slipping of leather straps. Once unbound, she slid the restraints down his waist to bare his bandaged torso, and he heard her take in a sharp breath.

"Hold on. I brought some supplies."

Her weight lifted from the bed, he heard her travel across the floor, the unzipping of a bag and scuffling within, and then she was at his side.

"I'm going to take off your bandages, and clean your cuts before replacing them." She was speaking for his benefit, to make him more comfortable through the process.

Her hands were warm, radiating her calming chakra, as she removed the linen from his chest and bloody stump of an arm. He could feel tingling in the ghost limb, feel the warm sensation of blood dripping down onto his torso, and again hear the chirping of lightning, see the blue sparks that scarred his skin as the raw energy sparked within his hand --

He would have killed her.

He hissed, the first noise to escape through his gritted teeth, and she mistook this for pain.

"Does it hurt, Sasuke-kun?"

His answer was empty air, a missable tremble in his body.

Her chakra flooded into him more strongly now, spreading fingers to wrap around him and heal the wounds he still possessed, but incapable of reaching the ones that severely needed attention. His shoulders relaxed, and that was enough for her, for now it seemed, because she moved on to rub a herbal remedy into the gashes in his skin that would soon become more scars.

He could taste the regret like blood on his tongue, feel it seep inside him like a digging, intruding parasite. 

She should not be here, but --

She moved on to tenderly rewrap his torso, even if she made sure the bandages were appropriately tight.

\-- If he was going to die, he wanted --

His hand reached out to grasp her wrist. He heard movement outside the cell, the sliding of a weapon from a sheath, but he supposed Sakura stopped them somehow, because nothing followed; instead, though he could not see her, he felt her eyes boring into him, waiting.

His mouth twitched, formed a thin line, and he muttered the only thing he could, "Sakura...I'm sorry."

_ For everything _.

*****

For all his failures, Kakashi thought this one was the most bitter: the past had repeated itself, and he had been able to do little but stand on the sidelines and watch it happen. And more than the blood of Rin's that had stained his arm, the eye of Obito's he inherited like a testament to his suffering, seeing Sasuke unravel, a student under his care, a clean slate to try again, how that descent tore at the others he had come to love like his own children, was a regret he would take with him to his grave.

Naruto and Sakura picked up his slack -- did what he could not -- and, in the aftermath, all he could do was try to smooth things over: play the politician's roll he despised so vehemently.

Standing with his back against the cool, stone wall, hands shoved into his pockets as he examined the bound Uchiha in front of him, he thought of this as a start more than an ending: _ a chance _, something Sasuke never had to begin with.

"Sasuke..." His voice trailed off as it naturally did, waiting to be acknowledged, yet when nothing came, neither a verbal nor physical affirmation that he was being listened to, he continued with a small sigh, "I need to talk to you about your intentions."

Finally, Sasuke's chin lifted, his blindfolded eyes directed toward his addresser. Kakashi took that as a good sign, elucidating, "I've been meeting with the other Kage to discuss what to do with you." _ Argue _ was a more accurate description; getting the Raikage to consider anything more than execution or lifelong imprisonment had been an uphill battle, but Naruto was as unyielding as ever. "But before I suggest a pardon, I want to know what you would do with your freedom."

The silence was less comforting, but Kakashi was patient. The kid needed time, and that was the least he could give him. "You don't have to answer me now. I can come back later."

Sasuke's jaw shifted, and the gesture was enough to keep Kakashi in the cell. A few more moments passed, but with a lowered head, Sasuke finally spoke, "I want...to _ understand _."

Kakashi's eyes softened, and inhaling quietly, he felt a tension he hadn't noticed building in his shoulders relax.

"....and become better," he admitted, his voice low and, though it was subtle, a shake off-centered his usually stable tone.

_ To heal _, Kakashi hoped, and looked upwards, gaze running along the cracks of the ceiling. "That's a start, Sasuke."

"I need to leave the village," he replied, and his sensei closed his eyes.

He figured it would come to that, and again, he reminded himself that this wasn't an ending. 

*****

Standing outside Konoha's gates, Sasuke felt the wind tug at his cloak and hair, making his dark bangs flutter against his face. Before him stood two of the family he had found after he had lost his own, those he could dare to think of as home: 

Kakashi, leaning against the massive wall, hands shoved in his pockets in nonchalance. He was a mentor, and a man who carried the same kind of scars scratched into his being: an understanding through pain.

Somewhere there was Naruto, his brother, an idiot he was forever indebted to for saving him from darkness.

And then there was _ Sakura _. Her hair had grown longer during his internment, and she stood a few paces in front of him with her arms folded behind her. She had loved him when he didn't deserve love -- he still believed that was true -- even after he had tried so hard to push her away, sever the bonds tying them together.

She deserved so much more. One of the reasons he declined her offer to join him in this journey of his; his sins had nothing to do with her, but also -- 

He needed _ time _. There was a deep wound within him, one that maybe couldn't be healed at all, but he knew he couldn't even begin while he remained here. He needed to tear at the intertwined, raw emotions crawling underneath his skin, the ones he tried for so many years to ignore.

He needed to become a better man.

So he left her with a simple touch to her forehead, a bittersweet memory floating at the front of his mind, and thought about his niisan as he walked underneath the trees lining the path outside the village.

And he considered the meaning of the word redemption. 

*****

** _Rain Country, Current Day._ **

"Does it hurt?"

The question caught Sasuke off guard. Looking up from his bowl of miso soup (which was all his stomach could handle), his eyes rested on the young girl seated across from him, who looked at him expectantly, her gaze flickering over the empty sleeve hanging from what little remained of his left arm. Without thinking, he lifted his cloak from the packed bag behind him, and draped it over his shoulders, making his missing limb less noticeable.

With Sakura busy preparing for their departure, Aiko off making her rounds around the village to check on the injured, and Sadao strangely nowhere to be seen, Sasuke was left alone with the child, finishing his breakfast. Part of him wished his semi-reluctant traveling partner would grace him with her presence, if only to take the attention from him; he wasn't the best with children, especially ones who asked such unintentionally hard-hitting questions.

"Sometimes," he answered, and hoped she would leave it at that.

But Amaya drew her brows together thoughtfully, and after a quiet moment spent pushing her soup around with her spoon, she once again poked, "Did it happen in the war?"

His eyes flickered over the child, examining her carefully, closely. It was an oddly specific question, but with how much damaged the last, great shinobi conflict had caused, he wasn't surprised by her assumption. He wondered how much she lost due to the fighting. With a softened gaze, he gave his answer with a simple nod and quiet, affirmative 'hm.'

She was only silent for a moment, her expression once again thoughtful, before it molded into one of childish annoyance. Her nose scrunched, she looked at him accusingly, and huffed, "You don't talk much, Sasuke-san."

It was small, a ghost of an expression, but the smile that graced the edge of his lips was genuine. He merely answered with an amused, low chuckled grunt, which only seemed to irk Amaya more. 

"Okaasan says it's rude to give half answers!" She exclaimed, crossing her arms. "And all the heroes from the stories love talking about their exploits!"

"That's because he's not a hero." The hardened voice made Sasuke's jaw set -- he hadn't heard the door open, or footsteps, yet now felt the shadow at his back -- but Amaya didn't seem dissuaded. In fact, she shot her father a chastising look, even as he continued, "And stories are just stories."

Looking over his shoulder, he watched as the deserter carried a bag into the kitchen, and began stuffing it full of non-perishable foods; hard tact bread, wrapped, salted meat and fish, and water-skins. "Amaya-chan. If you're finished with your meal, step outside to play for a while."

"But otousan --"

"Amaya. Now."

With a look of indignation, the child excused herself, sparing Sasuke one last glance, before she ran out the door of the small hut; on the way, she stumbled into Sakura, beaming up at the medical ninja, who forced a smile back as she stepped inside.

"I've helped your wife tend to the wounded," Sakura stated, her eyes drifting from Sasuke to Sadao. "I've left her some spare medicine to help in my absence; everyone I've seen should make a full recovery."

Sadao offered only a grunt in return, and once the bag was full, crossed the kitchen to hand it to Sakura, "Provisions for the road."

What he wanted was clear enough. 

Rising to his feet, Sasuke gathered his belongings, and stood next to his companion. Eyes resting on their once reluctant host, he nodded firmly, "We'll be on our way."

"Thank you, Sadao-san," Sakura added.

In response, he once more grunted in a way that could have been a laugh, had it not been so harsh. "Don't thank me. I have repaid a debt, nothing more."

*****

Rain drops dripped from the minimal shelter provided from the overhanging canopy of tree branches, cascading down the fabric of Sasuke's cloak. His jaw setting, he wished the weather would let up, or at least not get worse, even if he knew the darker clouds approaching on the horizon suggested otherwise, as he summoned three hawks to scout ahead.

"Their progress will be hampered by the downpour," Sasuke informed Sakura, though she only nodded in response; she probably already knew. Standing to his feet, he tilted his chin to signal he was ready to depart, watching as his summons took off into the sky, but the familiar sounded of a child's voice stopped them in their tracks.

"Sasuke-san! Sakura-san!" Amaya was huffing by the time she reached them, and immediately placed her hands on her knees. "I was hoping to catch you before you left!"

"Amaya-chan," Sakura smiled, crouching down to be eye-level with the child, "You shouldn't be out this far from your home. Better hurry back, before your parents find out you're missing."

"I wanted to give you this!" She exclaimed, reaching into her back pocket to pull forth a dyed strap of red leather, cracked with age and meant to be tied around one's forehead, that bore the kanji for _ronin _in faded black paint_._ "Papa gave it to me, because he said it brought good luck and protection, and only the greatest swordsmen could wear it."

"And swordswomen," Sakura corrected, closing Amaya's fingers around the treasured object. "Thank you, but this is something you should keep."

"No, please take it!" The child insisted, thrusting the band up in offering. "I want it to bring you luck in finding Akira-kun, and, besides, Sasuke-san's a much better swordsman than me!"

Sasuke watched the girl for a moment, his dark eyes flickering over her wide ones, and after placing his hand first on Sakura's shoulder to pull her back, he took the headband from the child, and hooked it safely around his belt. 

*****

** _Amegakure, Rain Country_ **.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The tousled-haired, fiery redhead lifted her gaze to narrow at the man seated across from her with his chin held lazily in his hand, though she knew him well enough than to fall for his feigned disinterest; the mischievous shine in his grey eyes, the slight, one-sided tilt upward of his lips were evidence enough of his amusement. Exhaling hard from her nostrils, Akane lifted her finger from the shogi piece she had intended to move, coming to rest it against another.

"Or that."

"Are you fucking with me, Satoru?" She practically growled, pressing her digit into the wooden piece hard enough to leave an indent in the board underneath. "Are you actually critiquing my next move, or just trying to get me to doubt myself?"

"Mm, that would be telling," Satoru replied in his usual sickly velvet tone, and clear irritation flashed across her face as that smirk of his only grew, one of his fingers pressing against his lips in a sorry attempt to hide the expression. "It doesn't really matter either way; I have checkmate in three moves."

"Bullshit!" She immediately exclaimed, but couldn't help the way her eyes dropped to peer desperately at the board, searching for something she wasn't seeing. She was so absorbed, she didn't even acknowledge the tapping on the rain-slicked window, or the impatient _ caw _ that followed.

With a sigh, Satoru rose from the table, running his fingers through his long, dark hair to exaggerate the time he was wasting. "Refrain from cheating while my back is turned, if you will, Akane-chan."

By the grunted insult he earned in return, he could tell he was getting dangerously close to receiving a broken nose.

Not that he ever learned.

Lifting up the window, he allowed the crow shelter from the rain, and closed it firmly shut behind. He retrieved the message enclosed on the bird's back, smoothing his finger against its feathers, leaned against the sill, and opened the scroll. For a moment his eyes darkened as they flickered over the parchment, the muscle in his jaw twitching firmly, and then he was recomposed, gaze lifting to find his companion watching him curiously.

"It's from Sadao-san," he explained, all signs of amusement gone from his voice. It hadn't been since the end of the war since they had heard from the former member of their regiment. "There's been another attack in Rain. Descriptions of the same men we've been hunting."

"And what else?" Akane pressed.

Satoru couldn't help but chuckle in return, though the sound was hardly filled with humor. "Seems like an certain Uchiha has stumbled into our abode."

She frowned, tugged at the cropped hair of her scalp, and let out a scalding huff of air. "Another walks into the clusterfuck. It's too much to ask to enjoy a day off, huh?" She grunted, before flicking the piece she had been mulling over moving off the board, sending it flying across the room. "Takeo-taichou should know."

"Well, you have been itching for some action, haven't you, Akane-chan?" Closing the scroll and sliding it into his belt, Satoru offered her a small smile. "Besides, it's not all bad. That medic -- the Sannin's disciple -- she's with him. She'd make a fine recruit, don't you think?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this was intended to be a bi-weekly thing, but with some life curveballs, even monthly has (obviously) been difficult. This is still in my head, however, and whenever my work schedule lets up, I’ll get back to it. 
> 
> Some parts of this chapter are probably not polished. I proofread to the best of my ability, but this has been sitting on my drive for months; thought it was time to release it.


End file.
